Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
Slam.
She deliberately did not turn at the sound of the door shutting; chose to ignore the slow, measured footsteps that squeaked against the white tiles of the locker room. They stopped right behind her and there was a pause; only the whisper of bated breathing rustled the curls of her hair.
Then, large hands encircled her waist, tugging her closer to a muscular figure, slick with the slightest sheen of sweat. Those hands ran up her sides; higher, higher. They gently pushed aside her coffee-coloured ringlets, exposing the slender neck below. There was the briefest moment of warm breath on her fair skin, and then soft lips were touching her bare shoulder, trailing kisses along her neck, nuzzling her earlobe. She shivered; a trail of awareness that weaved its way down her back then up again.
All rhyme and reason abandoned her, and she found herself giving in to the incredible sensation, her brown eyes closing as she leaned back into the strong arms that held her, those warm lips nibbling, nipping her uncovered skin. There was a rough chuckle of encouragement, low and melodious to her ears. She was turned around slowly; gazing into eyes the darkest shade of midnight blue. They seemed to twinkle with amusement at her inability to be strong enough – strong enough to resist his charms, to defy the physical need roaring throughout her body.
She shut her eyes again to hide the sight of his slight sneer and fierce lips descended on hers, hungrily taking and tasting what she had to offer. She gasped and with a hard shove, she stumbled backwards from the demands of his talented tongue.
Her chest heaved; her breath was uneven as she tried to gather her composure, glancing beseechingly into eyes that wavered between lust and perplexity.
"No … Not here," she pleaded, willing him to understand her predicament.
He looked right back at her, his eyes becoming hard, unflickering, as he took in her quivering lips, nervous teeth worrying the edge.
"He doesn't know." It was posed as a sentence, but within that statement was a question, one that he knew was pointless to ask but did so anyway.
When she did not reply, he knew he had his answer.
He cursed, a loud exclamation of anger and frustration as he closed the distance between them again, backing her into a metal locker. She felt the slightest hint of fear as his snarl edged closer to her face, his strapping arms on either side of her, preventing her escape.
His eyes were stormy as he ruthlessly ground out his words.
"Then let him see."
Again, lips claimed hers, but his kisses were unhurried and purposeful, calculated to wring out her response to the full lips moving against hers, that moist tongue searching … searching …
She moaned; a soft sound that rumbled through her like a kitten's purr as their tongues slid together; the texture of his smooth lips and rough tongue was almost too much to remain unmoved. Her small hands raced along the hard planes of his broad chest and there was a sharp hiss as they brushed past his flat nipples. There was a quiet chortle as a fist grasped his dark hair, clenching and unclenching in the short, black-blue strands.
"You don't love him." His voice was harsh, almost mocking as she stood on tiptoe, frantically clutching him to her, his sweaty skin an afterthought; irrelevant.
And he wrenched himself away from her, leaving her cold and alone as she whimpered at the loss of contact. He stared straight into her befuddled eyes, chocolate brown and more than enticing, but his own dark sapphires were unflinching as he coolly drew back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Perhaps you'll think twice about what I've said," he spoke with a deadly calm that infuriated her; then left her with the prickly feeling of icy dread as he spun around sharply on his sneakered feet and walked steadily, shoulders unnaturally straight, to the locker room door.
"Hisashi!" she called out to him, hating the way her voice sounded – scared, needy and damn near close to desperate as his palm rested on the handle.
Mitsui Hisashi's fingers gripped hard, clenched tight around the long, cold strip of metal but he did not turn back as he pulled it open, his jaw set and his lips pressed into a tight, thin line.
Ayako stood there staring as Mitsui walked away from her, the door swinging savagely shut behind the handsome three-point shooter.
It was never easy to make a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea. But the ultimatum had been issued, tossed over the back of his broad shoulders that had finally decided that enough was bloody enough.
She had to make her stand.
Another bit of mindless drabble that I just itched to write. I'm still undecided whether to continue this or leave it as a one-off:)